


If You're Keeping Score

by Marzipan77



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, episode tag s01e08 Manhunt, strangulation is no joke people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22518469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzipan77/pseuds/Marzipan77
Summary: Ezra knows a little bit about a lot of things. Sometimes it comes in handy when dealing with the trouble magnets that are his six friends.Set just after Manhunt. Well, this could have happened.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	If You're Keeping Score

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Terri at Revelcon.

Pain. Bright. Searing. Someone had set red-hot rivets against his skull and was turning them, tightening them. Crushing.

He shifted, trying to get away from the cruel hand that was set on tormenting him. His leg screamed – his voice soon following.

"Okay. Okay now. Stop your wrestling around and it won't hurt. Well, not as much."

Tanner. That was Tanner's voice. Rough and thick and deeper than usual. Tanner's hand lay on his chest, on his leg.

_Stop. What are you doing? What's going on?_ Ezra intended to speak, to ask those vital questions and get some answers, but his mouth did not seem to be interested in cooperating.

"I know. You'd rather have Nathan here, patching you up." Tanner cleared his throat. He moved his hand from Ezra's chest to lay both on the leg, one below the knee, the other on the ankle, above and below the pain. "Hell, I'd rather Nathan was here, too," Tanner murmured.

_Yes. Nathan. Go get Mister Jackson._ Ezra tried to open his eyes. The lids were heavy. Heavy as lead. Heavier. Like mules were standing on them. Would no part of his body obey him?

"I've gotta set this, Ezra. Can't wait for Nathan. He and Josiah stayed back at the Indian camp. Remember?" Tanner grunted, shifted, but his hands were steady. "Chris, Buck, and JD headed back to town with the preacher. Damn it. Shoulda –" 

Ezra frowned. Preacher. Indian camp. Good Lord but thinking hurt. He raised one hand to his head. Ah, one body part that obeyed.

Tanner caught his wrist in a vice-like grip. "Don't touch it. I just got done cleaning it. Trust me, you don't want me having to do that again." He laid Ezra's now limp hand down at his side. "And neither do I."

Cleaning. Cleaning a wound? A dusty scene fluttered behind Ezra's eyes. They'd been worried about the boy. The preacher's son. Rafe. Hot-head. Leaving him behind at that Indian camp might have been a mistake. 

Had Ezra gone off with Tanner? Of all people? Thinking to confront the boy? That did not seem in character.

"Okay. This is gonna hurt."

Tanner wasn't wrong. Not this time.

7 7 7 7

The smell of cooked rabbit woke him up. Seared flesh and hot grease. Since his head was still being crushed by his cruel enemy, Ezra gave himself a pass – just this once – for spewing his guts into the dirt. 

"Easy. Don't do yourself any more harm."

Tanner caught him before Ezra fell face-first into his own mess and set him back on whatever padded thing he'd laid under Ezra's head. 

"You don't look so good." Well, it sounded like dust and gravel, but at least Ezra's voice was obeying him again. And his eyes. Beneath the dirt, Tanner was pale, his eyes narrowed and lines of pain deep around his mouth. 

"You're a fine one to talk," the man croaked.

"Well, yes." Ezra took stock of himself. Broken leg set between straight branches. Bruised and sore all up and down the length of his left side. He lifted one hand to his temple and winced. Bandaged. "If you'd be so kind as to explain to me what exactly put me into this position, I'd be grateful."

"Rafe Mosley. And a couple of his friends." Tanner sat down – somewhat gingerly by the way of Ezra's observation – and leaned back against a half-grown tree on the other side of the fire. "Chris was right. He was going after his dad. We got in the way, like we were supposed to."

"And?" Ezra prompted.

"Creased you. You fell off your horse and broke your leg." Tanner leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

There was sweat on Tanner's face in the cool evening air. One hand was tucked into his belt, the other was clenched into a fist on his thigh. 

"Did you at least get the bastard?"

Blue eyes glared across the fire. "Don't you think there's been enough killing? More than enough?"

Ezra used both hands to shift his leg an inch to the right. And then back to the left. There was little comfort to be had, but he seemed unable to resist the urge to try to find it. "Pretty fancy words coming from an ex-bounty hunter."

When he looked up, Tanner's eyes were closed again. "S'pose so."

"Well?" Ezra demanded after too long a silence. "Are we waiting here for Rafe Mosely to take another shot at us or what?"

Tanner grunted, right hand rubbing the side of his face. "Took his guns. His friends', too. Chanu and his brothers were already chasing after them. They took them back to the camp. Figured the two could grieve their loss together."

"Let me get this straight," Ezra seethed. "That young man shot me and you, in your infinite wisdom, decided to let him get off scot free? Well, isn't that just –" He blew out a breath and slammed one fist into the ground. "Not to mention the fact you didn't have them take me back for real medical attention instead of your cowpoke wisdom?"

"Couldn't go back. Not right away." Tanner's words were coming out in a mumble as if he was falling asleep. "Liable to get the boy into more trouble. Sister dead. Father a killer. Enough weight on those shoulders."

"While I admire your altruism, I would have liked to have been consulted on the management of my own care, thank you very much."

Tanner's eyes didn't reopen this time. "Y're fine."

Anger managed to break through Ezra's intentions. When faced with his own health and welfare, it often did. "Oh, and you are such a good judge of what's right and wrong, are you Mister Tanner?"

Tanner had the audacity to quirk his lips in a half-smile. "I know you don't think so. Don't trust me. It's okay. Don't mind."

"Damn it, Buck Wilmington," Ezra whispered before facing Tanner again. "I take it Mister Wilmington told you of my … hesitation concerning your belief in young Chanu?"

Tanner opened one eye. "You takin' watch?"

"Am I -?" Ezra put a hand on his hip and realized Tanner had left his guns by his side. "I suppose I can." He shifted backwards, dragging his leg, until he could put his back to a nearby boulder. He clenched his teeth against the wave of pain. "The question remains, Mister Tanner, why aren't you able to keep watch over my broken body?"

"Riding hard. Be fine in a coupla hours. Wake me then." Tanner set his hat over his face and turned away.

"Wake you –" Ezra managed to stop himself before he shook his aching head at Tanner's ease. "I will do that, if I can find a big enough rock to throw at you," he said to himself.

7 7 7 7 7

The pounding in his head and queasiness of his stomach kept Ezra awake until false dawn. The birds weren't fooled – they never were – but the lightening of the sky brought with it a lessening of Ezra's headache so he could only be grateful. 

"My God, you snore," he complained to the sleeping ex-bounty hunter across the way. "Hey! Tanner!" After his third attempt to try to wake the man, Ezra found a thick twig and tossed it to land on Tanner's chest. 

Hat flying, Tanner sat up and pulled his Mare's Leg at the same time.

"If you could point that somewhere else, I'd appreciate it, thank you," Ezra bit out. "You told me to wake you. I woke you." He lifted the canteen that he'd found tucked into his gun belt and shook it. "I'd also appreciate some water. And a little help so that I can ease my bladder, if you will."

Tanner blinked; his forehead screwed up in a frown. He opened his mouth with an ugly retort, no doubt, but, apparently, thought better of it and holstered his gun without saying a word. He crouched, rubbing at his throat and wincing before hauling himself to his feet.

"Water, good idea." His voice was little more than a whisper, choked and wheezing.

Ezra raised one hand between them when Tanner stumbled over to help him up. "Now, hang on. Have you caught something from your Indian pals? I don't particularly want to be laid up with a nasty bug and a broken leg."

"Idiot," Tanner mumbled. He grabbed Ezra by the vest and hauled him upright. "Put your arm around my shoulder. You're not exactly a lightweight."

When Ezra's business had been taken care of, Tanner, in an act much gentler than Ezra had any right to expect, set him back against the pad he'd made of both saddle blankets before taking himself off to a nearby stream with both canteens. And, damn! that stream was cold. Just sipping from his canteen sent a rush of shivering through Ezra from top to tail. Tanner was taking tiny sips and put his nearly full canteen away long before his thirst could have been taken care of.

Through narrowed eyes, Ezra watched him. Tanner was unusually recalcitrant – even for him. He kept his left hand tucked into his belt when he didn't need it, and kept his back turned to Ezra most of the time.

Instead of allowing himself to fall back to sleep, Ezra continued his examination of the problem that was Vin Tanner. He did love a mystery. And, with his headache a mere shadow of its former glory, he could finally think clearly.

When Tanner returned from watering the ponies and setting them to graze, Ezra was ready.

"I was wrong to not trust your judgment about Chanu. But I've been wrong before – only a few times, mind – and, it is possible that I will be wrong again. I did, however, join with you to find him, and assisted in the capture of the most decidedly not-reverent-at-all Mosely. So, you hiding your wound from me seems a bit petty as a way to pay me back, doesn't it?"

Tanner half-turned to listen, still presenting his right – uninjured? – side to Ezra. He seemed unaffected to be called out, his gaze steady, shoulders slumped, right hand resting easily on the butt of his weapon.

"What wound?"

Ezra pointed, frustration making his words sharp and quick. "Left arm. Or shoulder. Did that useless whelp get you, too? Hiding it isn't going to make it go away, you know."

The right side of Tanner's mouth tipped up. "I'm not shot. I," he pointed to himself, "did not get grazed, fall off my horse, and break any bones. It's –" he hesitated, trying once again to clear the thickness form his throat, "it's nuthin."

"'Nuthin' is keeping you from using your left arm and hand? Is that it?" He lifted both hands and let them fall. "Are you intending never to trust me again?"

Confusion settled on Tanner's face, making him look like a small child faced with a mathematics problem. "Trust you as much as ever. You gotta right to speak your peace just like any one of us. You came. Rode with us."

"Ah, yes," Ezra leaned back, tension draining away. "'Actions speak louder than words' does seem to be the truism of this band of brothers we've created." Chris Larabee had been quite direct with his warning after Ezra's … absence during the fight at the Seminole village on their first adventure together. Funny – it had cut through Ezra's usual extremely high-level of arrogance quite effectively.

"Then please enlighten me," Ezra tried again. "Beyond whatever sickness you're battling with your throat, that left arm is bothering … oh, hell and damnation." Ezra shot bolt upright. "Get over here, Tanner."

Annoyed, Tanner lifted his left hand from his belt and peered at it. "Feels funny. Like I slep' on it wrong." He wriggled his fingers. "Didn't find any bruises." He maneuvered his shoulder. "Not dislocated."

"I said get over here. I know what's wrong." Ezra gestured towards the dirt on his right, away from his splinted leg.

Tanner did not look convinced, but he obeyed. "Boys should be here soon. Probly by noon. I can wait –"

"No. You really cannot." He jerked his head towards the kerchief wrapped around Tanner's neck. "Take that off." The smirk that followed was half-hearted at best. "Your virtue is safe with me, Mister Tanner. If you please?"

Tanner untied the knot and, wincing, slipped the kerchief loose. 

"Now that is an ugly sight." The man's neck showed the sure signs of strangulation. A swollen, purple line cut straight across his throat, the skin around it puffy and white. One hand on his chin, Ezra tilted Tanner's head back and forth. "Well, the good news is that he didn't get your carotid, didn't cut off blood flow to that thing you use for a brain up there. Choked you out –" he met Tanner's gaze, "took a while to drop you, didn't it?"

Nodding, Tanner replied: "Seemed to take a coupla days, but I reckon it was two or three minutes."

"Indeed," Ezra agreed. "It's amazing how long it takes once the air supply is cut off. You know, most deaths from hanging or strangulation are because of a broken neck or brain injury, not from loss of breath."

"Well, I'm not dead. Is that your diagnosis? 'Cause I could have told you that from all the breathin' and walkin' and standin' up I've been doing."

"Ingrate." He bunched the kerchief up in one hand. "Take this and soak it in that freezing water and lay it – gently, mind you – across your throat. It might help with the swelling."

Tanner glanced up and down at the kerchief and then back at Ezra. 

"Now, please. Then come back, we need to talk."

"Bossy," Tanner mumbled. He coughed once, a barking, choking sound, and paled, one hand on his throat.

"Yes. That's something else we're going to have to guard against. Go. Get." He shooed Tanner away.

Ezra scanned the scruffy plants around them. Not much grew along this track. He closed his eyes, dredging up the images of the meadows they'd ridden through. Flowers. Grass – yes, flax, that was good. Had there been a – yes, he thought he remembered it.

Icy wrap around his throat, Tanner sat back down at his side. "Feels good," he croaked. "But what's the neck got to do with my arm?"

"I'm guessing," Ezra began, "that Chanu held you against the bars of the cell?"

"Yep."

"Pinched a nerve, I'd bet. That's not the most worrisome of these symptoms – time and rest should take care of that. What we've got to do is get the inflammation down. You see, my friend, the effects of strangulation on the body do not all go away once the cord – or the hands – are removed from one's throat. Now," he held out his arm and planted his right foot on the ground, "in an ideal world I would simply order the natural ingredients we need from the nearest pharmacological purveyor." He stared pointedly when Tanner didn't get his unspoken request for help standing. After an immature eye-roll, Tanner helped him to his feet. "Instead, we are going to have to do this the hard way. Harvest that patch of pepper bushes I believe I saw back towards the Indian camp. Crush the seeds. Mix it with the oil from the flax seeds and we'll make a nice smelly poultice you can wrap around your neck."

Eyebrows high, Tanner turned towards the east. "Sun's barely up. And you're in no condition to traipse about the countryside harvesting … stuff."

Ezra matched Tanner's disbelieving expression. "That's why we have horses, Mister Tanner."

7 7 7 7 7

Ezra felt miles better just being mounted. Yes, his leg hurt like the devil at every jounce, but he could move. Gun strapped to his side, no one would take Ezra Standish for a helpless victim, even with a splint on his leg and a bandage on his head. 

Tanner, however, was listing. Drooping in his saddle. Nathan had better get his backside in gear and get here – he'd be expecting an injured Ezra, so he should be moving at speed. Right now, Tanner was in much worse shape.

"How come you know so much about gettin' strangled?" Tanner coughed, a disgusted look on his face as he spit into the dirt.

"Be quiet. If you do, I will tell you a story," Ezra promised. Looked like Vin had some fluid in his lungs. That coupled with the swelling in his throat, pinched nerve, and weakness on his left side made Ezra kick his pony into a trot. "Once upon a time," he began, hoping to distract himself from his pain as well as keep Tanner's mouth shut, "there was a boy who lived with some very fancy women. His mother, you understand, did not lay down for money, but she was, at the time, quite a good businesswoman and knew what the gentlemen of the area wanted."

"Your ma is a peach, ain't she?" Tanner murmured.

"No unasked-for comments, please, or I will sick Mister Wilmington on you. He has similar stories, you know. Anyway, one of the so-called gentlemen had a predilection for a certain kind of … roughhousing, shall we say. Unfortunately, his usual lady friend was both greedy and stupid and did not complain. She took to wearing lace neckwear to cover the bruises. My mother, eventually, noticed the lady had become weak and lethargic, her speech slurred, and insisted on a doctor. And that is how I became educated on treating strangulation injuries, Mister Tanner. And what can happen if they remain untreated."

He felt Tanner's gaze drilling into the side of his head.

"To answer your question, yes, she died." Turning, he met Tanner's disbelief with a glare. "We shall not allow that happen to you."

Tanner harvested the sack full of peppers left on the bush. Cut down an armload of flax. Ezra kept up a long, meandering story while insisting that Tanner re-wet his kerchief and sit with his back propped again against the tree while Ezra crushed and split and mixed his poultice. "There's nothing wrong with my arms," he insisted when Tanner tried to do it himself.

It wasn't pretty – and it sure smelled worse than it looked – but Ezra smeared the concoction on one of his least favorite cravats he'd found crushed in the bottom of his saddlebag and smoothed it across Tanner's throat. 

"You will leave that, sir, no matter how much it stinks." He paused. "Or burns."

"Yessir," Tanner mumbled. His face was flushed from the spicy oil. "You should rest. Get some sleep before they put you back up on a horse to get to town."

"I intended nothing else," Ezra replied, curling up on his good side and closing his eyes. "Stay upright, Mister Tanner," he added. "Spit if you cough."

"Yes ma'am," was the mumbled reply.

Ezra chose to ignore it, being the bigger man.

7 7 7 7 7

They rode in about noon, just as Tanner had suspected they would. Nathan checked Ezra over, nervous and worried, muttering about clumsy cardsharps who couldn't duck out of the way in time.

"As you can see, I am fine," Ezra insisted – not for the first time. "Mister Tanner did an adequate job splinting my leg and cleaning my manly wound, did he not?"

"Well, yes, looks like he did."

Raising his gaze over Nathan's shoulder to catch Wilmington's curious stare, Ezra jerked his chin towards Tanner. "Then kindly turn your attentions to the man that needs them. Or have you all forgotten just how Chanu managed to escape from that prison cell?"

Five of the seven turned to stare at Tanner, propped up against his tree. Larabee was hunkered down at his side, his face pinched.

"What's wrong with Vin?" JD asked, his voice loud in the quiet clearing.

Larabee was already reaching towards the poultice to try to see the marks underneath.

"Bring that here, if you would, Mister Larabee," Ezra said. "Time to reapply our poultice. Unless you have some fancy analgesic in your kit, Mister Jackson?"

"Analge –" Their erstwhile doctor hurried to Tanner's side just in time for Chris to reveal the purple swelling around Vin's throat.

"Whew," Chris waved a hand in front of his nose. "That is some powerful concoction."

"You should try having it sit not six inches underneath your nose," Tanner croaked in reply.

"Shit, Vin. I didn't think – why didn't you tell us?" Jackson leaned over his patient, trading whispered words, questions and answers, while Chris watched and listened, the poultice drying in his clenched hand.

"Mister Larabee? If you please?" Ezra prompted, uncovering the stone with the concave surface where he'd crushed the seeds together. "Rinse it out in the cold stream down yonder and we'll reapply."

The others shifted around Vin, eager to see, to make sure their compadre was going to be all right. Chris returned with the sopping – but mostly clean – cravat and kept his hooded gaze on Ezra's hands while he smeared his concoction on in a thick layer.

"That's gonna make him better?"

"Time is the only thing that can make this kind of injury better, Mister Larabee. Time and care and careful watching for worsening symptoms. This –" he held up the cloth – "this will hopefully reduce the swelling enough so that our friend can breathe during his recuperation."

Chris plucked off his hat and held it in both hands in a familiar gesture of discomfort. "Didn't think about that kid strangling him. Vin woke up and took off right after him – thought it was nothing." His flat blue gaze met Ezra's. "Glad you figured it out. Knew what to do."

Why praise from this man tended to make Ezra's chest puff out in pride he did not know. And it was not something he ever intended to look into more closely. No thank you. "You'll find I have much knowledge of the world around us, Mister Larabee. I'm happy to share it. With friends."

Chris' answering nod was slow, intense. "Good to know. Glad it was you I sent with Vin." He set his hat back on his head, pulled it low over his eyes. "You seem to be okay?"

Ezra heard the underlying question and chose to answer it. "Mister Tanner and I have no argument between us. And no debt."

A half-smile quirked up Chris's lip. "Oh, I think we're all more or less obliged to each other ten times or more over. If anyone is keeping score, that is."

Snorting, Ezra leaned back against the blankets. "I believe I'll leave that up to Josiah's God."

Chris replied over his shoulder on his way to Vin's side. "Sounds like the smart thing to do."


End file.
